Meat Puppet
by 217
Summary: You break Negan out of jail, but will you regret it after the two of you start to travel together? Negan x Reader (One-shot)


Bullets are too close for comfort, yet all you can think of is Benny Hill and laugh as Negan and you flee from Alexandria. Every occupant chasing after the two of you.

"Well, this was a shit fuck idea," Negan barks back, taking you by the wrist to pull you along faster.

"You're out of your cell, shut it," you counter. It wasn't the most graceful escape. Obviously. The fair seemed like the ideal time to get him out because everyone would be distracted doing fair things. Only, now, you have three communities demanding your blood instead of one. "A thank you would be nice!"

"How about a fuck you?"

"I mean, that works too." Attraction to Negan has never been an issue. In fact, there is a part of you, no matter how much you deny it, that loves him. He's your best friend. A dick, but your dick. He has his share of flaws, boy does he ever, but you see him for the man he is. He never hides anything from you, no matter if it's painful or not.

Negan easily falls back into his leadership role as he plots the best way out of this mess. You're not miles away from Alexandria, but you're safe for the moment.

Thankfully.

Negan's hand is already stretched out for his things. "Probably in the clear. Hand it over." His jacket fits nicely on him. It always has. "Felt naked without it."

That image is nice, too. Though he'd open his mouth and ruin it.

"That's it?" He yanks the bag from your grip. "You had time to get my jacket and Lucille, but you didn't get me any boots. Do you know how hard it is to find a size fourteen motherfucking boot?"

Technically, Lucille is the entire reasoning behind this mess. If you didn't go after her, in the first place, you never would have been spotted. But you know how much she means to him. What you'd give to have even a fraction of a space that she has in his world. "Anything else you'd like to complain about that I didn't do to your liking, my lord?"

"Asshole," he murmurs.

That's about as endearing with Negan as it gets, but even though you have a deep adoration for him, it doesn't excuse the fact it's disrespectful.

He folds his arms with a scoff. "Are you pouting over what I said? Seriously? Christ. I'm fucking sorry, ok?" Now he's the one pouting. "Y/N, you know I'm grumpy when I'm hungry."

Those sullen facial features of him make it really easy to forgive when he's a surly motherfucker. You roll your eyes annoyed because all is forgiven. Dammit.

* * *

"Fuck, yes," Negan shouts in victory as he hoists up the pair of scavenged boots.

Only fifteen minutes have passed since he just had his tangent about how hard it is to find boots in his size. You leave him to find some clothing of your own.

It's going to be winter soon. The worst time to be on the run, but you'd take this over rotting away at Sanctuary without Negan. You were the only one who took Negan's side. Who fought not to have him rot in that cell. Funny how everyone was fine when Negan led and they didn't need to get their hands dirty. Now you see where loyalties lie.

Negan has been eyeing something on the ceiling now for quite some time.

You walk over to see what it's all about, but it's nothing really.

He reaches up and starts tugging on the fluffy metallic piece sticking from the roof titles. "The fuck is this," he murmurs, still pulling on the piece.

It's pretty obvious what it is. It's silver garland used to decorate at Christmas time. Though why anyone would store the decorations for Christmas in the ceiling tiles is beyond you. The ceiling is already bowing from the weight.

"Oh, I get it-" The entire ceiling piece, as well as the box stupidly placed there, comes crashing down on top of Negan. "Fuck! Oh, fuck me alive it's glitter. Get it off. Get it the fuck off!"

You shake your head at the broken jar that was stored in that box because once glitter gets on something… good luck. It's actually pretty comical despite how pissed he is.

One chair through the store window later, he's calmed himself. "I mean, fucking honestly! Fuck glitter! Fuck it!"

Guess not.

He shakes off his jacket and starts slapping the ground with it, like he's trying to put out this imaginary glitter fire.

"Probably going to have to burn it now." You start to laugh again because a piece of that garland is stuck in his boot, dragging behind him like some fancy toilet paper as he sulks off to be by himself. Now, you don't realize it at the time, but this is more than Negan just being upset over glitter.

When you find him, he's hiding out in one of the dressing rooms, his knees up to his chin. The garland still stuffed in his boot. There's this blank stare etched on his face until his tears finally give. He wipes them away with the back of his hand, but it smears the dirt on his face making it even more dramatic.

"Negan," you frown, taking a seat beside him in this tiny dressing room. "What's wrong?" You set your hand on his bicep. "Talk to me."

He's never been one to open up. Talk about his _feelings and shit._ Yet he shows no opposition this time. "Christmas was our thing, you know? The house wreaked of burnt cookies and cinnamon candles to cover it up, but it was a tradition. It meant I was home. We fucking loved Christmas morning. **I** fucking loved Christmas morning. Now, fuck. I don't know." He yanks the garland frustrated from his boot, trying to throw it dramatically, but the weight of it makes it fall right in front of him. "I'd always wait until the last minute to get her gift. I know she thought it was because I forgot, but the truth was, I was just so excited to give it to her, if I had to wait more than a day I'd spoil the fucking thing."

"You do have a big mouth."

"Ha. Fuck you. Any-motherfucking-way, this is stupid. She ain't coming back, and we ain't ever getting Christmas morning together again." He pushes himself from the floor, leaving you in the dressing room.

How do you force someone that needs to talk that doesn't want to talk? That's a lot for someone just to spout out and now act like nothing's wrong. Maybe it's for the best. This kind of sensitive thing can be difficult to find the right thing to say.

Yet as the year draws to an end, you find that you don't need to say anything at all.

Negan talks about Lucille as if he's on the way home to her. He's proud of her and her accomplishments. Loves her laugh. Her scent. Her.

Sometimes it's difficult to listen to, but that's your selfish side.

Oddly, the more accepting you become of it, the more Negan seems to come around to the idea of the two of you. Or maybe that's just you getting your hopes up. He's got this strange persona about him today. "What are you looking at?"

"You."

"Stop." Please don't stop. You just don't want to get your hopes up again. Maybe he just needed to get all that off his chest so he could be open to the idea of someone else? There goes that crazy thought process of yours. Here it's the end of the world and you still can't get out of your head.

"This place," Negan says as he starts up the steps of the motel. He kicks in the first room, but it's a bust, and smells horrible. The next room has one occupant. Negan puts the undead to rest or, rather, Lucille does. He flings the access off her wires on the wall. "I know she's not coming back. Just like I know everyone thinks I've lost my fucking mind carrying around a baseball bat named after her."

"Since when do you care what people think?"

Negan turns to smile. An actual smile. Then the floor comes out from under both of you as you fall to the lower room. He breaks your fall. Undead break his. "Fuck!" He reaches for Lucille, swinging her at one that means you harm just in the nick of time.

You're frantic to kill what you can, which isn't much because he protects you. Just like he always has.

He takes you by the shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

You shake your head. Thanks to him, no. If it hadn't have been for him, you would have fallen right on one of the four bed posts and impaled yourself, but him pulling you on top before falling through spared your life.

"That was shitty as fuck." Negan disappears into the bathroom.

You look around disturbed by the undead family that you and Negan slaughtered. Six kids. Mom. Dad. Grandma. There's also an animal the family fed on. A suspicion it's the family dog.

Thankfully, Negan doesn't want to stick around but it's a good thing you followed because he just walks out of the room like he's frantic to find something. Lucille eventually starts to drag behind him, her wire scraping against the street.

"Are you ok?"

Negan has gone quiet. Quite the change from earlier until he finally speaks when the sun sets. He wants to spend the night in this vacant shed on school grounds.

"Uh. Alright." There's not much the two of you can use, except he's not scavenging.

Negan takes a seat under the window, his legs stretching out on the cold concrete for miles.

"What's wrong?" You don't like having your questions dismissed and ask him again.

He tugs at the collar of his jacket, moving it away from his neck some.

You're eyes focus in on the injury. Not just any injury. "No," your voice wavers. "It's not-"

"It is."

"There's got to be some way we can-"

"There's not. You know how this shit works. You get a bite, you get any kind of wound from these things. Something from them gets in you and you fucking die. Now are you going to unbutton those pants or not?"

It's just like him to play hard motherfucker.

* * *

The fever takes him down hard, his precious leather jacket discarded to the side like he's shedding skin. "I'm sorry… I failed you..."

You shake your head side to side. "Save your strength." There are all these things you want to tell him.

 _It'll be ok._

 _Help is coming._

It won't be ok. It will **never** be ok. Help isn't coming, and if it does, it'd rob you and him of these final few precious moments because they don't know how important he is to you.

He doesn't know how important he is to you.

"I love you, Negan."

He scoffs. "No, you goddamn don't."

"Is that really what you want your final words to me to be?"

Negan lulls on it for a bit before a sickly grin starts to creep up the right side of his cheek. His eyebrows wiggling.

"Never mind," you roll your eyes.

"Come on, Y/N. I'm in real fucking agony here."

Your tears give as you hang your head because you're going to miss this fucker so much.

He gives it his all to cup your cheek. "You know that she is everything to me, but you rival pretty damn close."

"I do," your hopeful voice asks. As you pick up your head, his arm falls limp beside him. "Negan," you sob, nudging him on the ribs. "Please… get up."

His dark eyes settle in place.

After four years together, everything ends in an instant. "No," you scream as if it will somehow alter the course of what's happened. Your body is so heavy, you collapse on him from grief. He was always this source of strength to keep going. Now?

You can't bring yourself to use Lucille on him. The only other thing you find is a pair of pliers. Is that even going to do the job? Every time you put the point at the base of his skull, you bring it back. You can't. You won't. "Why?!" Of all the fucking motel rooms, of all the places to fall, it had to be **that** one.

* * *

You open your eyes groggy and start to laugh when you feel a tickle on your arm. "Stop it."

Negan takes your arm from his mouth as his murky eyes stare back at you. Some days, you swear he understands what you're saying.

You wipe the drool from your skin and onto his shirt, thankful you took his teeth with those pliers instead. Something that was quite upsetting to do at the time, but it prolongs this delusion he hasn't left this life. Another precaution you take is making sure he keeps his gloves on. That way he doesn't scratch you, but Negan's pretty docile these days.

After slipping on his jacket, you situate the supplies on his back. "Ready?" Lucille leans against a tree as you take hold of her. You lead Negan by the tattered rope down the interstate. Even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it, Negan still protects you. Just his presence deters the other undead when they pass you. Your eyes follow one of the dead in particular. Is that undead wearing… a banana hammock? You glance up at Negan towering over you. "Be thankful you didn't die in that," you chuckle, knowing that somewhere he's snickering too.

A turn of events brings a deer in your sights. This is a great morale booster. What part of the venison you don't eat, you let Negan feast on. He's about as messy eating now as before he turned. It makes you laugh. That's something he was always good at, and it seems he always will be. "Come on. Let's find a place to hold up for a while."

* * *

With the sunrise brings an important day. One that you and Negan talked about in length the last few months.

The snow is beautiful as the two of you watch it fall. Worn leather keeping the chill away from you.

You smile back at Negan. "You're finally with Lucille again. Merry Christmas, Negan." Oddly, you've never felt stronger until this moment. And you'll be ok. After all, you have Negan and Lucille at your side...


End file.
